


Son Of A Preacher Man

by JustaHogwartsGirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel is the son of a preacher man, Christianity, Church Sanctioned Homophobia, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Conversion, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Inspired by a Music Video, It Gets Worse, Kissing, M/M, Son of a preacher man, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, The beginning is cute, We Hate John Winchester, actually i do, i don’t make the rules, inspired by a song, some internalized homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24307627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustaHogwartsGirl/pseuds/JustaHogwartsGirl
Summary: “The only one who could ever reach me was the son of a preacher man.”*Taking a break until my mental health can handle the content I have planned*
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 33
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You should watch Tom Goss’s cover of “Son of A Preacher Man,” because that music video is where I got this idea!

Dean scratched absentmindedly at a mosquito bite on his ankle as Lisa Braeden finished the Sunday reading. The church was stuffy with heavy August heat, and summertime drowsiness made Dean slump in the pew. The soft rustle of church bulletins being used as fans was the only sound accompanying the sharp tap of Lisa's heels as she returned to her seat.

"Thank you, Lisa, for spreading the Word of God," the preacher said, smiling in a way that wasn't exactly sincere. Dean had never liked Bartholomew Novak. He was like an action figure, shiny and hard and fake. "Good people, please turn to First Corinthians, chapter six, verses nine and ten."

Dean looked down as Sammy slid his well-worn Bible over a little. Dean never remembered his, so they spent most Sunday mornings with the Bible spread open over both their laps, the spine falling into the space between their thighs. Sam, the clever little creature, had covered the page with sticky notes, carefully outlining the passage. On the edge, in messy middle-school scrawl, he had written _evil things_.

"Right in the midst of that passage," Bartholomew told them, "right in the middle of that verse, it says _those who are homosexual_."

Dean bobbed his head obediently with everyone else. One of Sam's sticky notes was covering the line in question, but neither of them moved it.

"You can not have faith in God, and be okay with homosexuality!" Bartholomew boomed. He seemed to realize he was yelling, because he forced a smile. “But this is about love.”

Dean flicked the Bible closed. Sam glanced at him questioningly, but didn't say anything. Dean kind of wished Sam would elbow him in the side and hiss "what's your problem" quietly enough that nobody would hear. Dean would tell him. Dean _wanted_ to tell him.

But Sam just scooted away and put the closed Bible between them.

"We must tell the homosexuals that it is possible to change," Bartholomew said earnestly.

Dean knew that Bartholomew was wrong. That no matter how often Dean prayed to the ceiling, he couldn't change. Almost without realizing, he glanced toward the front row, where the preacher's family sat.

Castiel Novak, the preacher's son, was already staring at him. Cas seemed to know what Dean was thinking, always seemed to know. He smiled, those ridiculously blue eyes looking right into Dean.

Then Cas's little sister Anna nudged him and pointed up to their father. Cas didn't exactly smile before turning back, but he crinkled his eyes at Dean and that was just as good. Maybe better, Dean decided, grinning to himself. 

After service, Cas found Dean outside. They shook hands, polite and well-mannered as anything. Then Cas ran his fingers over Dean's tie.

"It's a nice color on you," Cas offered, looking back up at Dean.

Dean was sure that the tips of his ears matched the dark red of his tie now. "Thanks," he managed. "Do you... do you want help with yours?"

It wasn't that Cas's tie didn't look good on him, because it did. It was messy, tugged loose. The top couple buttons of his shirt were even popped open.

"No, but thank you," Cas said politely. He smiled, looking much too proud himself as he leaned closer to Dean and lowered his voice. "Mother doesn't like when I do it this way."

Dean laughed and glanced over at Naomi, the preacher's wife. She was bouncing her youngest son on her hip, a fat baby boy named Gabriel. He was always clad in little blue onesies, or tiny green t-shirts with tractors rolling across the front. Meanwhile Anna was clinging to her dad's leg with a pink bow the size of her face perched on the top of her head.

It made Dean roll his eyes sometimes, how the people in his town liked to color-coordinate their children. But he had to grin now, looking at Cas's tie and imagining Naomi's frustration.

"It looks good," Dean said finally. "Matches your eyes." 

The eyes in question crinkled happily. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean shrugged, trying not to blush. "Yeah. You going to the barbecue this afternoon?"

"Your barbecue?" Cas asked.

"I guess. I mean, it’s my old man’s barbecue. But my house. My family’s house." Dean rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “I guess you have to go, ’cause of your dad.”

Cas scrunched his nose. “I will go. But not because of your father or my own.”

“Oh.” Dean shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. Right, okay.”

Cas beamed. He didn’t smile often, not really. When he was happy, his eyes would crinkle and his lips would curl up a little. But this. This was showing teeth and gums.

Dean stared.

“Are you alright, Dean?”

“Yeah. I’m good, I’m good.”

Cas didn’t answer, just stared curiously.

“Yeah, okay, buddy. I’ll see you in a bit.” Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder and grinned.

Cas was the preacher’s son, so he and his siblings were dragged with their father most places. Luckily, Dean liked Cas, so they kept each other entertained.

Not _that_ kind of like. Not _that_ kind of entertained.

Though... Dean glanced back at Cas as he started the walk home, Sam chattering at his side. Cas was watching him in that calm, patient, strangely intense way he had.

Maybe _that_ kind of like.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

"Stop! Claire, stop right there! You're getting grass stains all over your skirt!"

"Are there any more buns?"

"Good gracious, Ben, one bite at a time."

Dean looked around and grinned. He liked Sunday afternoon barbecues. Babies were passed from person to person as everybody tried to balance plates of hot dogs and coleslaw and mac'n'cheese on their laps. Kids squealed, getting grass stains on their dresses and slacks. Ladies swapped their heels for sandals, and men sipped on ice-cold beers. It was a little too hot outside, but in the shade it was perfect.

"Hello, Dean."

"Cas!"

"Indeed."

"Good to see you, buddy." Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder.

"The feeling is mutual," Cas replied. The look on his face was more confused squint than happy crinkle, but he didn't look upset. Just like he was trying to figure Dean out.

Next to them, Ellen Harvelle cleared her throat loudly, bearing her old clunk of a camera proudly. Cas broke eye contact. (Which wasn’t a big deal.) (Actually, it was kind of a huge deal to Dean.) “Smile, boys."

Dean slung an arm over Cas's shoulder and stuck out his tongue, throwing in a wink for good measure. Cas only took a moment to respond, wrapping his arm around Dean's waist and mimicking his expression.

Ellen smiled and gave them the Polaroid. After they crowded a little closer than was strictly needed to examine the photo, Dean slid it into his pocket.

"C'mon, I got something to show you." Dean hooked a finger in Cas's belt loop and tugged him toward the front door.

They couldn't walk side by side in the narrow hallways of Dean's house, but Cas followed Dean to the back door with a hand on his shoulder. When they reached the backyard, Dean paused. "It's really cool, I swear. But we gotta go through this huge field, and—"

"I'd love to go," Cas interrupted.

"Oh. Okay, great."

Cas ran his hand over the peeling white paint of Dean’s backyard fencing. “Over the fence?” Cas asked.

“Yeah. I’ll give you a boost.”

Cas grinned and climbed the fence easily, dropping lightly to the ground on the other side. He peered through the slats of the fence at Dean. “Coming?”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh as he followed Cas over the fence. “Damn, preacher’s kid has moves, huh?”

Cas smiled proudly. “Race you?" he suggested.

"What? No, you can freaking fly, I swear."

Cas whacked Dean on the shoulder and started sprinting. And, of course, Dean had to chase after him.

It didn’t take long to reach their destination, running and laughing like men gone mad. When they unbuttoned their dress shirts, breathless and hot, Dean realized Cas wasn't wearing an undershirt. He wondered if that was also an act of rebellion against his mother. (He wasn't complaining, whatever the reason.)

"There it is!" Dean pointed to a tree with branches as wide as Dean himself. It was low to the ground at some points, but Dean had once climbed a few stories high in this tree. "It's perfect, Cas, I swear." 

"I believe you," Cas answered readily.

Dean pulled himself up into the branches, then held out a hand for Cas. The preacher's son was unsteady as he walked up the wide, low branches, and he grabbed Dean's hand as soon as he was close enough.

"I like it," Cas said, leaning against the trunk for balance.

Dean nodded. "It's pretty awesome, huh? You up to go higher?"

Cas shrugged, looking up at the branches soaring above his head. "I'm afraid of falling."

"Hey, that's alright then." Dean almost clapped Cas on the shoulder but realized that might throw his unsteady friend off balance. Instead, he squeezed Cas's hand, which still made Cas sway a little. Dean smirked and jumped off the branch, rolling onto the ground.

"Dean!"

"I'm fine, Cas." Dean brushed dirt off his slacks before holding out his arms. He couldn’t hold back a grin when Cas clung to the tree for support. “You next.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please watch Tom Goss’s “Son of a Preacher Man” music video because that’s where this idea comes from!


	3. Chapter 3

It was easy to spend time with Castiel Novak. He had some of the strange, stiff mannerisms of his father, but he didn't try to cover them up with saccharine smiles and long sermons. If he was aware of his awkwardness (and Dean thought he _must_ be), he didn't try to do anything about it. 

Sometimes Cas would stare at Dean. It was like he had never seen him before, or like he was trying to memorize his face. It was unsettling at first, but Dean got used to the prolonged eye contact over years of friendship. It took a little longer to get used to the way Cas seemed to float off the ground when he ran, and how he never seemed to sleep.

(Once, when Dean had smuggled some beer from the fridge into his room, he came to the conclusion that Cas must be an Angel of the Lord sent to save Dean from being gay. When he woke up the next morning, he remembered that he absolutely was _not_ gay and that angels didn't exist.)

(Dean still doesn't believe in angels.)

(He came around on the other part.)

"Do you believe in angels?" Dean asked Cas now.

Cas was lying on his back, his shirt still open (thank God). Dean was smushed next to him, propped up on his elbows to look down at his friend. The shade of the trees protected them from the summer sun. It was kinda perfect.

"Angels?" Cas repeated. "Yes, I do."

"Do you believe _everything_ your old man says?"

Cas squinted at Dean. "Of course not. Do you believe everything _your_ father says?"

They both knew that John Winchester was a taboo topic, so Dean didn't bother to answer. Instead, he shifted so he was lying on his side. "But all the Jesus stuff. You believe that?"

"Yes."

" _All_ of it?" 

Cas sighed. "Dean, it seems that you are looking for a specific answer. I do not understand what that answer is, however, so I must ask you to be more direct."

Dean rolled his eyes, knowing that Cas couldn't see. "What did you think of this morning's sermon?"

Cas turned so that he was facing Dean. "That is not 'Jesus stuff.'"

"The air quotes were unnecessary."

"Even so." Cas's brow crinkled. "I do not agree with my father on that count. And on many other counts."

This time when Cas stared, Dean stared right back. The tension was like something Dean could touch, could hold. They were already smushed together, but now Dean could feel the heat of Cas's body; he could even feel the soft rise and fall of Cas's stomach as he breathed.

"Cas?"

"You were the first one to call me that."

"What?"

Cas squinted at Dean. "You were the first to give me a nickname."

"Oh. Really?"

"I don't lie."

"I know, buddy, I know." Dean chuckled a little. "It's surprising, that's all."

Cas reached out and brushed a stray hair into place. Dean froze at the feeling of Cas's fingers against his skin. Cas was taking his time, it seemed, but Dean couldn't stop him, didn't _want_ to stop him. The gesture was so strangely tender, so far from the teasing touches that they both pretended not to notice. Cas didn't once look down at Dean's lips like girls had done in the past. He just looked straight at Dean, gaze a little softer than usual.

"Uh... Cas?"

"Hmm?"

"What are you..?"

Cas drew back his hand. "I apologize. I've made you uncomfortable."

"I'm not uncomfortable!" Dean rushed to say. If Cas thought he was uncomfortable, he would never give Dean that soft look or touch him so tenderly again. "Just confused."

"How?" 

Dean shrugged and rolled to his feet. "I don't know."

Cas let Dean help him up, then frowned at him. "What makes you confused?"

"Let's just move on. Forget I said anything."

Cas didn't stop frowning, but when Dean took his hand, he squeezed it warmly. Cas's palms were sweaty with nerves and summer heat, but so were Dean's, so it was more reassuring than gross. Their hands fit perfectly together, slotting fingers next to fingers like those jigsaw puzzles Cas loved. (God, holding Cas's hand was kinda everything, wasn't it?)

When Dean rubbed his thumb across Cas's hand, he suddenly stopped because that _meant_ something. Dean wasn't exactly sure if it was supposed to. He thought that untying Cas's tie for him and stripping to undershirts and bare skin meant something, but perhaps it didn't. He thought that the gentle brush of Cas's hand through his hair meant something, thought that the heat of Cas's palm gripped tight to his meant something. But perhaps it didn't.

But this. The sweet, gentle rub of Dean's thumb on the back of Cas's hand meant something. Girls had released his hand for that, gone for his collar instead, and drawn him in for a kiss. It was more than that, though. And by the way it made Cas's frown fade, he knew that.

"Goodbye, Dean," Cas said.

They had been walking across the field, and houses were visible again. Dean tried not to be offended. He understood. (He really did.)

"Yeah, bye. See you around."

Cas paused for a second before pulling Dean into a hug. They hugged often, but this was thrillingly different. Dean could feel every part of his body pressed against Cas.

"I'll come to your room tonight," Cas told Dean matter-of-factly as they separated.

Dean jumped back. "What?"

"Make sure you're decent. I'll come around midnight. You still have that skateboard, do you not?"

"Uh... yeah. Why?"

"Make sure it's somewhere we can get to it." Cas dropped a kiss on Dean's forehead. "Midnight."

"What? Cas!"

"Race you!" Cas called, already taking off for Dean's house.

It took a moment for Dean to join Cas in his sprint. Dean must be forgiven, though, because the place Cas had kissed on his forehead still tingled, and that was impossible to ignore. The promise of midnight also had him slightly unsteady.

That then, is why Cas beat him to his house. Dean would've won otherwise. Obviously.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late-night adventure with a healthy helping of angst

The bright green numbers on Dean's digital clock cast a strange kind of light on his wall as he retied his shoes for the fifth time that night. It was 11:58, and Dean had already brushed his teeth twice since dinner. 

It's not that Dean was nervous. Of course he wasn't. Cas was still Cas (even though Dean had recently discovered that his lips were softer than they looked). He was still rumpled and thoughtful and weird. And things hadn't really changed, had they? The look in Cas's eyes right before he kissed Dean's forehead was one Dean had seen millions of times but had never understood. Now, though? Dean thought he kinda got it.

Cicadas sang outside Dean's window as he ran his hand through his hair. It was real-messy instead of cool-messy now, but he didn't care.

11:59.

A strange thump joined the sound of cicadas and Dean jumped to his feet. He peered out the window and saw a familiar silhouette bathed in the soft yellow light of the street lamp. Cas dropped his bike on the sidewalk and picked his way through neat flowerbeds, teetering a little bit to avoid stepping on any. It was ridiculously endearing, and ridiculously _Cas_.

Dean opened his window and grinned. "You wanna come in?" he whispered. "I'll pour you a lemonade."

Cas rolled his eyes, a flash of blue in the dark, and held out his hand for Dean. It was unnecessary aid, given that the window was just a few feet above the ground, but Dean took it. Cas's grip was stronger now, and as Dean tried to slide out the window quietly, Cas's hand went instinctively to his waist to steady him.

Cas didn't let go of Dean for a moment after he was steady on his feet. (He didn't let go!) Dean realized that he didn't give a damn if somebody saw them. God, he wanted _everybody_ to see Cas's arm wrapped around his waist and their hands interlocked. 

"Hello, Dean."

(Jesus fricking Christ, there is no way a simple greeting was allowed to do _that_. They were standing way too close together, and Cas's voice was way too deep. It was dizzying.)

"Hey, Cas." Dean squeezed Cas's hand before dropping it. "Uh... My skateboard's in the petunias."

Cas snorted out a laugh as Dean crouched down to pull his skateboard out of the flowerbed.

"Are you ready?"

"For what?"

Cas just smiled and tipped his chin up in that proud way he had. "Let's go," he said, instead of really answering.

Dean wasn't about to argue. Why would he? Cas looked soft and relaxed in his hoodie, and Dean was allowing himself to truly enjoy that for the first time. Cas's hair was messy (as always) but this time Dean brushed some of it back into place. Cas's hair was soft and thick.

"Oh," Cas breathed.

Dean hesitated. "Good oh?"

"Great oh," Cas answered. He grabbed Dean's wrist and pulled him toward the street. "C'mon."

Dean couldn't help but chuckle as he pushed off on his skateboard. "That kind of oh?" he teased.

Cas shot him a dirty look from his bike. "Hush."

"The preacher's kid," Dean marveled. "Who woulda thought?"

Cas was looking straight ahead, but Dean was positive that he rolled his eyes. "I am more than my father's son. I find that... I find that I care for you more than I should. More than I care for God's plan."

(Dean almost swooned at that.)

"Maybe this _is_ God's plan," Dean offered. He wasn't sure if he believed what he was saying (wasn't sure if he believed in God or angels or Jesus fricking Christ). But Castiel Novak was having a crisis two feet away from him, so Dean tried. "Things happen for a reason, and all that?"

"I suppose." Cas glanced over at Dean. "I didn't know you paid attention in church."

Dean shrugged. "Sammy's into all that, so I try for him."

Cas made a soft sort of hum at that, and they fell quiet as they rode down the block. The cicadas filled the silence, and the heavy, sweet smell of magnolias draped over them in the cool night air. Cas offered to let Dean hold onto the seat of his bike and coast as Cas pedaled for both of them. Dean wasn't going to protest, especially when their new arrangement had him even closer to Cas. 

"We're going to your house, aren't we?" Dean asked suspiciously.

Cas grinned as he slowed to turn onto his cul-de-sac. "Yes. And no."

Dean had only gone to Cas's house a couple times before. It seemed that neither he nor Cas wanted to be there. Honestly, Cas's house was kinda ridiculous. It was large and sleek and modern and white. Dean's house was smaller, a comfortable suburban carbon-copy of the other houses in his neighborhood. They had spent many long afternoons sprawled out on Dean's floor doing homework, arms brushing. Being at Cas's house always meant dinner with too much silverware.

"What now?" Dean asked, shoving his hands in the pockets of his flannel pajama pants. He wasn't sure if it was the size, or that Bartholemew Novak lived there, but Cas's house made him nervous.

Cas tucked the skateboard and bike up against the side of the house. "Now we walk."

Dean ruffled Cas's hair. It was a familiar gesture between the two of them, not charged with anything except late-night giddiness. "Lead the way then."

Cas slung an arm over Dean's shoulder and kissed his cheek as they began their walk into the woods behind Cas's house. "Don't worry. It's not far."

"Why would I worry?" Dean asked.

Cas shrugged a little. "Because you don't know where we're going. I know you're usually asleep at this time, so you could be wondering if I'm going to keep you up all night, the answer being 'possibly,' and—"

(Possibly?) 

Dean stepped in front of Cas, effectively cutting off his rapid chatter. Cas didn't seem to mind the interruption at all. On the contrary, he looped both of his arms around Dean's neck and stepped even closer. Cas's eyes were so ridiculously blue. The faint pink of a sunburn from earlier in the day brushed across his cheeks and nose. God, he was really kinda beautiful. Dean had never thought that about a guy before, but 'beautiful' was definitely the word to describe Cas's surprised laugh and his eyes and the way he tried not to step on flowers. 

"Why would I worry?" Dean repeated. He met Cas's eyes before softly kissing him on the forehead. Because a kiss on the lips would be too real, and Dean didn't know if Cas wanted that.

(Sometimes Dean wasn't sure if he wanted that.)

"I have no reason to worry when I'm with you." 

Maybe, just maybe, kissing Cas on the forehead was one of the best things to ever happen to Dean. And it felt real. (It _was_ real.) Because Cas was warm and solid and soft. And because Dean held Cas's face when he did it (because he could). And because he had never kissed any of his girlfriends on the forehead, had never felt that special sort of love and tenderness toward another person.

Cas didn't exactly smile when Dean pulled back to check his expression, but his face relaxed and his eyes went soft and he pulled Dean into a tight hug.

"I care about you deeply," Cas said as they pulled apart. "You should know that." 

"I kinda guessed."

Cas kinda rolled his eyes at that, but he also smiled, so Dean knew it was okay. Cas started walking again, one hand twisted up in Dean's t-shirt. There was a full moon (or something real close to it), but it was blocked by the trees. Cas seemed to know the way, though.

"Watch your step here, Dean. There's some roots... there you go." Cas stopped and looked up. "Here we are."

Dean followed Cas's gaze to a tree house nestled in the branches of a huge oak. "Woah."

Cas grinned. "I'm glad you think so."

They climbed up to the treehouse. It wasn't high, but it was off the ground and just a bit closer to the moon.

"It's beautiful," Dean said.

Cas smiled proudly. He opened a large box in the corner and passed Dean a blanket. (It smelled like Cas.) Then he pulled out a couple of sandwiches, slightly smushed and covered in way too much plastic wrap.

"Peanut butter and jelly?" Dean guessed.

"It's like you know me."

"I've never been up here," Dean said, scooting over a little.

Cas moved into the space Dean created. "It was mine when I was a child, but it fell into disrepair when we moved away."

"And now?"

"My father fixed it for Anna." Cas leaned into Dean's side and closed his eyes. "I miss this place."

"I wish I knew you back then."

Cas hummed thoughtfully. "I don't think you do. I wasn't me."

"Well, of course you weren't _you_ yet. That's part of growing up, Cas."

"I was my father."

Dean wasn't sure if Cas wanted him to say something in response to that. (What _could_ he say in response to that?)

"I'm not anymore," Cas hastened to say, as if Dean didn't know that. (As if Dean didn't know Cas better than anyone.) "It's just... my family isn't about love. It's duty, I suppose, over anything else."

"What changed?"

Cas rested his head on Dean's shoulder. "I met you."

Dean felt almost uncomfortably warm. 

"You love everything," Cas continued. "Did you know that? I remember meeting you for the first time and wondering if loving like that was exhausting."

"I love you and Sammy and my father," Dean countered. "Nobody else."

Cas wrapped his arm around Dean. "Falsehood. We're your family, perhaps. But not the only objects of your affection."

"God, Cas, who talks like that? _Falsehood_?"

"I'm sure God has nothing to do with my speech patterns," Cas answered sharply. There it was, just a little bit of Castiel Novak slipping through the _Cas_ of it all. 

"Sorry."

"Mhmm." Cas made a weird motion, like he would've shrugged if he wasn't pressed against Dean. "I think loving like that _is_ exhausting. You care so much. How do you take it?"

"Is this me taking it?"

Cas pulled back. "I thought so." He squinted at Dean. "Is it?"

Dean brushed Cas's hair away from his face and pressed a kiss to his temple. "My baby brother isn't able to survive with my father."

"Dean..."

Dean felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. God, he hated feeling like this. He hated thinking about it at all.

"I love my brother so much, Cas," Dean choked out. "God help me, I love that kid. And you're right. It hurts every second to love him." 

Cas pulled Dean into his chest, rubbing his back and pressing kisses into his hair.

"I love you, Cas," Dean murmured against Cas's chest. 

"I love you, too, Dean."

Dean pulled away to look Cas in the eye. "I mean it. But not in the brotherly way anymore. In the... in the other way."

Cas's mouth tilted up in a surprised, fond kind of way. "Yes."

Dean stretched out on the floor of the treehouse. "I love you, but I can't _do_ anything about it, Cas." 

"I thought we were," Cas teased.

"Get that look off your face," Dean fussed, still staring at the ceiling. "I can hear the eyebrows."

Cas laughed and settled in next to Dean. He pulled the blanket over both of them, gently smoothing it over Dean. "It's almost like you know me." 

"I do." Dean covered his face with his hands. "But I want to know you more. And I can't."

Cas had the grace not to argue with that. He, of all people, understood what Dean was saying. 

"If anybody finds out, my dad will kick me out of the house. And I can do it, Cas. My old man's been beating me my whole life. I can survive out there. But... Sammy can't. If I leave, what's stopping Dad from going after him?"

"That's very noble."

"No, it's not. I'm nothing. I'm going to live here forever, hating myself. But Sammy's better than me, Cas. Swear to God, he's gonna be a bigshot lawyer someday. That kid deserves everything I can give him."

"I don't know what it's like to love someone that much," Cas confessed quietly.

Dean rolled over onto his side to look at Cas seriously. "I hope you never find out. It _is_ exhausting. Sometimes I wish..."

"Yes?" Cas prompted when Dean trailed off.

"I wish I could sleep forever."

Cas took Dean's hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. "I would miss you." 

"So would I. That's the tragedy." Dean laughed humorlessly. "I want to leave because I care too much, but that's the exact reason I stay."

Cas looked soft then, in the dark, laying on his side. He put a soft, warm hand on Dean's cheek. They didn't move closer; the space between them felt too charged. Instead they let their eyes close, warm under their shared blanket.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Dean woke to find himself twisted around Cas. Though he was too groggy to remember exactly how he got there, Dean immediately knew whose arm was wrapped protectively around his waist. 

"Hello, Dean," Cas said fondly.

Dean made a noise that probably would have embarrassed him if he was awake. He tucked his face into Cas's chest to avoid the rays of sunlight streaming from the horizon.

Cas laughed, and Dean felt it rumble in his chest before he heard it. "Wake up. It's morning."

"Says who?" Dean grumbled.

One of Cas's hands moved from Dean's waist to his hair. "Nobody, I suppose."

"Did I dream we were in a treehouse?"

Cas hummed a bit. "Quite possibly. Dreams are often affected by reality."

Dean grinned and squirmed out of Cas's loose hold. "Woah, no way!"

The view out of the treehouse was, in Dean's opinion, awesome. A few stubborn stars clung to the purple-gray of dawn, but he could see orange sunlight through the trees. It was early enough that dew was clinging to Dean's hair, but the birds were loud and cheery.

"Imagine if we lived here," Dean marveled.

"There's no toilet."

Dean laughed and squeezed Cas's hand. "I love you." 

"Why did you laugh?" Cas asked, sounding almost offended. 

"I'm just happy." Dean joined Cas back on the floor of the treehouse and inhaled the scent of him. "You're you, and I'm me, and we're here together."

"We shouldn't be."

Dean pulled away. "Huh?" 

"No, I am perfectly content," Cas clarified. "Unfortunately, I have family." 

Dean stood and reached out his hand for Cas. "Yeah, I get that."

Cas rarely smiled when he didn't mean it, and he never faked it around Dean. So he just stared at Dean for a moment, eyes sad and blue (and beautiful). He stood, then cupped Dean's face in his palms. It was like something magical. God, it was like something spiritual, if you could experience anything spiritual with another guy's breath on your face. Dean didn't know the rules anymore.

"I love you," Cas said firmly.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

Dean smiled a little and gently moved Cas's hands from his face. "I'm not going anywhere, buddy."

Cas wrapped Dean's hands in his own. "Really?"

"Hey, don't sound so surprised." Dean tugged Cas into a hug and peppered kisses on the top of his head. As Cas clung to his t-shirt, Dean realized that Cas really was surprised. "You're stuck with me for a while yet, Cas." 

Cas giggled against Dean's shoulder and pulled away. "Lucky me."

"I don't know about lucky," Dean said, but he kinda smiled as he said it so that Cas knew it was a joke. (Cas didn't always understand jokes. Dean loved him for it.)

"I _am_ lucky."

Dean touched Cas's hip softly. "Yeah? Then so am I."

Cas blinked furiously and took a step back. "Yes."

"Are you...?"

"It's nothing." Cas wiped his face with the back of his hand and turned away from Dean. 

"You're crying!" Dean started to reach out to Cas, but shoved his hand in his pocket at the last moment. "C'mon, buddy, what's up?"

Cas shrugged helplessly. "We have to go home."

"And?"

"And?" Cas repeated incredulously. "You'll be beaten, and I'll be told that I'm an abomination until I believe it."

"Hey, don't worry about me." Dean could feel his defenses going back up as Cas turned to look at him. He once thought that those eyes could see through any lie, but Cas seemed to buy it. Dean couldn't help but feel something souring in his heart as Cas gave him a sweet smile.

(Dean wanted to beg Cas not to believe him. He would let Cas strip him down to the most vulnerable parts if it meant Cas understood.)

"Still. Please be careful."

"Yeah, okay." 

Cas climbed down from the treehouse first, sure of every movement even in the dim light of morning. Dean followed. His foot slipped, but Cas's hands were there on his hips to steady him. 

"You can jump," Cas said. "I'll catch you."

There was a weird kind of feeling in Dean's stomach. He was so _tired_ of suffering in silence, so _tired_ of lying to the boy he loved. But even though Cas couldn't read Dean's mind (or his heart) the way Dean wished he could, he trusted Cas more than anyone else.

He jumped.

Cas stumbled backwards, but he caught Dean with strong arms wrapped around his waist. Dean regained his balance quickly but didn't move away. (Why would he?)

One of Cas's hands drifted to Dean's heart. It was drumming _so hard_ , and Dean was worried that Cas could hear his breathing get faster. 

"I got you," Cas said quietly. He hooked his chin over Dean's shoulder and stayed there, pressed against Dean's back until Dean's breathing calmed. When Dean relaxed his shoulders and placed his hand over Cas's, he got a soft hum in reply. "There you go," Cas murmured. 

Dean stepped out of Cas's embrace and turned to face him. The light was better now; Cas's face was highlighted with the soft, warm glow of sunrise. There was a faint red mark on his cheek, probably from sleeping on the rough wood of the treehouse. His perpetually messy hair stuck up in soft tufts. For once, Dean knew it was bed head rather than carelessness.

More than that, though... Cas looked peaceful. His face was usually crinkled in happiness or frustration or a warm kind of fondness that Dean knew was only for him. Now he was relaxed, content.

"You're beautiful," Dean whispered.

Cas's eyes widened, the peace on his face giving way to surprise. Dean wanted to kick himself. Guys weren't beautiful. They were... handsome or manly or hot. (Dean's cheeks heated up at the idea of calling Cas _hot_. Not that he wasn't. It was just... weird.)

"Beautiful?" Cas asked softly.

Dean wanted to run, because something about Cas's face was way too much. God. Cas was beautiful. Cas was the most beautiful person he'd ever met.

Apparently it wasn't okay to say that to guys (no matter how true). Cas looked like he was on the verge of tears now, staring straight into Dean's eyes.

Dean hated himself.

"I'm really sorry, Cas, really."

"For what?"

"Calling you— hey!" Dean found himself with Cas's hands up his shirt and kisses pressed to his neck. "Cas, what the hell?"

Cas let one hand settle at the small of Dean's back and brought the other up to run through Dean's hair. "Don't apologize," Cas whispered in the space between their lips.

"I thought..."

Cas moved his finger over Dean's lips and pulled him a little closer by the hand on his back. The rough heat of Cas's hands on Dean's bare skin was enough to light him on fire.

"Are you gonna kiss me?" Dean asked breathlessly.

Cas leaned away and blinked his confusion. "What?”

"Well, don't let me stop you."

Cas bit his lip. "I don't...."

Dean took a step back himself. “I mean, if you’re not into it...”

“No.” Cas was never one for nervous energy, but now he shifted his weight from foot to foot, back and forth, as he stared at his feet. He glanced back up at Dean. His face was bright red. “I like it.”

“You like it?” Dean echoed. (He was kinda proud of himself, but it really, really wasn’t the time.) “Then why do you look so upset?”

Cas stopped fidgeting and looked Dean in the eye. “I honestly don’t know.”

Dean shrugged. “Hey, it’s fine. No pressure.” 

“Really?”

“Yes, really. God, what kind of monster do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you’re a monster.” Cas stood up a little taller. “And don’t use God’s name in vain. It’s rude.” 

“Rude to who?” Dean asked incredulously. “The big guy? He’s been plenty rude to me.”

Cas rolled his eyes in a way he probably (definitely) learned from Dean. “Still. Refrain, please.”

Dean scoffed and kicked lightly at Cas’s foot. “You good?”

Cas sort of shrugged. “About being scared to kiss you? I suppose.”

“Are you scared?”

“Should I be?”

Dean stared at Cas. “I don’t... I don’t think so.”

(Because Dean didn’t want to scare Cas. He really didn’t.)

“Good.” Cas looked Dean up and down. When he met Dean’s eye, there was the slightest glimmer of challenge. “May we try again next time?” he asked, all refined politeness.

“Try what? Kissing?”

“I would like to try again. That is, if you’re amenable.”

Dean choked on a laugh. “Um, yeah, Cas. I am.”

“Very well.” Cas gave Dean a gummy grin. “Would you like me to walk you home?”

“Nah, I got it.” Dean hesitated and then held out his hand. Cas took it instantly. They made their way out of the woods together. (The walk seemed much shorter in daylight.)

“Well, I’ll see you later, buddy.” 

Cas smiled a little. His eyes darted to his house, and he handed Dean his skateboard. “You need to leave, Dean. I apologize.”

“Don’t worry, I get it.” Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”

“Next Sunday,” Cas corrected. “I’m grounded for leaving the barbecue.”

“Oh man. That’s tough.”

“That’s normal. I reflected badly on the family.”

(Dean resisted the urge to pull Cas close and stay with him forever and ever. Just the two of them.)

“You didn’t reflect on anything,” he retorted instead, just a little too grumpy.

Cas grinned. “You’ll miss me.”

“Shut up.”

Cas’s grin faded but his eyes stayed cheerfully crinkled. “Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean rode off on his skateboard. (He kinda wanted to look back. Just to see if Cas was still watching.)

Sunday. God, that was almost an entire week to go without seeing Cas. Especially after that almost-kiss. And the feel of Cas’s hands on his bare skin. Dean had never looked forward to church so much before. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What?? An update?? From me?? Crazy, I know. 
> 
> Trigger warning: abusive John Winchester and mention of self-harm. There’s nothing very graphic, but this is a backstory chapter so feel free to skip it if you need to <3

Dean had had an unhappy childhood.

John and Mary were the best parents any little kid could ask for. John took Dean fishing, and Mary taught him how to ride a bike. There were flowers on the table, pie in the oven, and rock on the radio.

(Of course, Dean doesn't remember most of that, but Uncle Bobby has told him stories. And he remembers feeling happy and loved. That was nice.)

John and Mary were the best parents a little kid could ever ask for. But when John-and-Mary was shortened to just John, things took a turn for the worse.

It wasn't noticeable at first. Sam and Dean lived with Uncle Bobby for a few months after the fire. When they came back, John hugged Dean and swung Sammy up on his shoulders. Their new house was a little smaller, but the church had donated new toys for Sam and Dean, so they were happy.

(Sometimes Dean would remember his mom and cry, but Uncle Bobby told him it was best to move on. Dean tried.)

After about a year, it was clear that John wasn't getting any better. He drank whiskey during the day and yelled too much. Sometimes Uncle Bobby or Aunt Ellen would come over. Dean couldn't hear what they said after bedtime, but he heard his dad yelling back.

On those nights, Dean would tiptoe next door to Sammy's room and curl up on the bed next to his little brother. Sammy could speak in full sentences by then, but he would babble sleepily as he wrapped a tiny toddler hand around Dean's arm. Mary had handed Sammy to Dean before she died. It was them against the world.

The new preacher came to town when Dean was twelve. Twelve was a tough year. Dean couldn't keep his mouth shut, even when he wanted to. John started throwing empty bottles to end conversations. (It worked. Dean still makes Sammy wear shoes inside.)

Dean sat outside the church one Sunday. He wasn't crying, really. He wasn't allowed to. But his chest was kinda tight and his head was stuffy and his skin itched so much that he wanted to crawl out of his body. When the door behind him squeaked open, he flinched and cursed himself for it. (Weak.)

An unfamiliar boy stood in the doorway and tilted his head at Dean. "Are you not at peace?"

" _What_?"

The boy sat next to Dean on the small stone bench. His eyes caught the engraving on the side and traced the Bible verse with his fingertips. "You are not at peace," he said, this time as a statement.

"Who _are_ you?"

The boy blinked quickly and tilted his head again. "I'm the preacher's son." 

"Novak's been here for a few months now," Dean said. He didn't mean to sound accusatory, but he heard the sharp edge in his own voice, just like his dad's.

Luckily, the boy didn't seem to notice Dean's harsh tone. "My parents wanted me to finish the semester at my old school."

Dean looked him over. His hair was almost black and long enough to fall into his eyes. Mismatched socks poked out from the hem of his khakis. There was an awkward gap between his two front teeth.

"You got a name, preacher's son?" 

"Yes."

Dean felt a smile tugging at his lips. He didn't like Pastor Novak at all, but this kid was alright. "And that name is?"

"Castiel."

"Castiel?" Dean echoed. 

"An angel." Castiel didn't look embarrassed, exactly, but there was something hard in his calm gaze, like he was expecting Dean to make fun of him.

Normally, Dean would've snickered at such a ridiculous name, but the look on Castiel's face told him not to. Instead, he just nodded. "I'm Dean."

"It is very nice to meet you," Castiel said in a way that felt weirdly real.

Dean stuck out his hand, but Castiel didn't take it. He furrowed his brow and touched Dean's wrist lightly. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing." Dean couldn't remember how he got the large, splotchy burn on his wrist, so it wasn't exactly a lie. (He still felt kinda guilty for not telling the truth though. It was something about those blue blue eyes.)

Castiel turned Dean's hand over gently to squint at his palm. A dozen tiny cuts littered his skin where John had hurled a beer bottle at Dean and left him to clean up the pieces.

"Who?" Castiel asked, still staring at Dean's hand.

Dean snatched his hand back (too late), face flaming. "Nothing. Nobody."

"You?" Castiel asked bluntly.

Dean had heard of those kids. One of the girls in his English class always got called to the office during lunch for her meds. People whispered about why she wore long sleeves even on the hottest days. Dean cringed at the idea. He already felt too much.

"No, man, I don't... I don't do that stuff."

"Good."

Dean kinda laughed to break the tension. "Why? 'Cause my body is a temple? A piece of God on Earth? Gimme your best, preacher's son."

Castiel tilted his head. "No. Your body is your own." His eyes flicked down to Dean's hands again. "And you're worth taking care of."

Dean kicked at the perfectly manicured grass just to have something to do. His eyes stung.

"And my name is Castiel. Not 'preacher's son.'" Castiel illustrated his point with air quotes. "If you would be so kind."

Dean wiped at his eyes even though he wasn't exactly crying. "I can manage that."

"Good."

"Good."

"Who hurt you?"

Dean huffed. "Jesus, just let it go. I'm fine."

Castiel held up two fingers. "First of all, don't use Christ's name in vain. Secondly, you are lying."

"Yeah, I am."

Castiel have Dean a look, something that said _stop lying then_.

"Don't ask me those questions if you don't want lies," Dean said seriously. "Deal?"

"I suppose." Castiel looked disappointed.

Dean grinned. "You can save my sinful mortal soul later, Cas."

"Cas?" he repeated.

"You think you can live with it?"

Cas nodded slowly. "I like it."

Dean bumped Cas's shoulder lightly. "What grade are you in?"

"Eighth."

"Me too!" Dean heard a noise behind him and jumped a little. Sammy stood at the window waving for Dean. "I gotta go, Cas. I'll see you at school?"

"Of course, Dean."

That afternoon, John Winchester grabbed Dean by his wrist. When the burn made Dean cry out, Dean's dad knocked him to the ground and called him names that made his face burn. He couldn't help but think of Cas when Sammy clumsily wrapped a bandage around the newly-opened wound.

"Why does Dad hit you?" Sammy asked, like he did almost every time this happened. 

"He's sad that Mom died," Dean answered, because that's what the school counselor had told him. He tried to understand, but he really didn't care that _grief affects us all in different ways_. He wanted to not have a black eye on picture day, and he wanted Rhonda Hurly to stop looking at him like he was a kicked puppy. 

"So are you," Sammy argued, his little face screwing up. "It's not fair."

"Life isn't fair."

"Why not?"

Dean ruffled Sammy's hair and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "It just isn't. But guess what?"

"It'll be unfair in my favor," Sammy recited.

Dean grinned. "Damn right, kid. You're gonna do great things."

It didn't matter that unfair in Sammy's favor meant that Dean had black eyes in the yearbook. His brother was special. His brother was worth it.


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

"Dean!"

A sharp flash of panic at Sammy's voice made Dean rush into the kitchen, sliding in socks on the chipped laminate flooring.

"What?" he gasped, just a little out of breath from his sprint.

Sammy looked up from his bowl of Cheerios. "Can you drive me to church?"

Dean pushed Sammy's long legs off of the chair across from him and collapsed into it. He suspected that once the rest of Sammy's body caught up with his legs, the kid would be taller than him. (He wasn't gonna tell Sammy that, though.)

Sammy shoved a spoonful of Cheerios into his mouth and spoke around his food. "So, Dean? Will you?"

Dean rubbed his hand across his face and sighed. Sammy was just an awkward preteen who was too smart for his own good. There was no point in getting mad at him for things.

"Where's Dad?"

"He's awake, but he's real sick about it." Sammy wrinkled his nose. "He was looking for you last night, Dean."

"Not a surprise."

"What'd you do?" Sammy pressed. "He sounded angry."

Dean sighed again and stood. "Keep your voice down, Sammy. He's hungover."

"Dean."

"Gimme twenty minutes and I'll drive you, okay? Just hush."

Sammy slurped the milk left in his bowl instead of answering.

"Gross," Dean said, mostly because Sammy expected him to.

Sammy grinned into his bowl. "Jerk."

"Bitch." Dean ruffled Sammy's hair and headed to his room.

Dean would never tell anybody except Cas, but he really liked chick-flicks. He used to watch them with Aunt Ellen when she babysat him and Sammy.

His dad didn't let that last.

So Dean would never tell anybody that he had actually been looking forward to church all week. He got dressed in the outfit he had picked out three days ago. (It took him a hour to decide, and Dean really didn't have many clothes to pick from.) He even used some of the fancy cologne that Bobby got him two Christmases ago.

It wasn't a date, but it sure felt like one as Dean styled his hair with water from the bathroom sink he shared with Sammy. 

God. It wasn't like Cas was going to see that Dean's socks were the same shade of gray and tackle him to the ground in the middle of church. (But Dean still checked his socks in three different lights to make sure they were the same.)

At this point, Dean was almost certain that Cas had... feelings for him. The romantic kind. It wasn't a caught-up-in-the-moment kinda thing, he had decided after a week of deliberation. Cas liked him. Like liked him.

And Cas wanted a kiss next time. 

This was next time, right?

Cas wouldn't tackle him to the ground in the middle of church, but there were certainly enough nooks and crannies, if the mood struck. Or they could run across the field again and climb trees and kiss until they were breathless. Or they could lay down in the treehouse and kiss until nighttime and then a bit after that.

Dean liked kissing. He knew kissing Cas would be monumental. 

God, he was so ready.   
  


  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was ridiculously hard to write and I’m not positive that I like it. Hopefully I can get the next one up a little faster! <3

"Hi, Cas!"

"Hello, Sam."

Dean spun around at the sound of Cas's voice, tripping over his little brother in the process. Sammy pinched Dean's arm in retaliation, but Dean barely noticed.

"Dean."

He grinned widely. "Cas."

Cas reached out his hand briefly before dropping his arm back to his side. And what did that _mean_? What was Cas going to do that couldn't be done on the church's front lawn?

(Dean had a few ideas.)

(God, Dean had ideas.)

Cas broke his eye contact with Dean to look at Sammy. "It's good to see you, Sam."

"You too. Are there donuts today?" 

Cas got that little happy crinkle around his eyes. "If anyone else asks, I'm afraid they're all gone."

Even in preteen awkwardness, Sammy managed to look adorable as he blinked up at Cas. "But?" 

"There's one wrapped in a napkin behind the coffee maker."

Sammy beamed. "Thanks, Cas!" He ran off to the kitchen, weaving around small clusters of gossiping old ladies.

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at Cas, not exactly straight on. "Hey."

"Hello." 

"How was your week?"

"Unpleasant."

Dean grinned. He couldn't help himself.

"What?" Cas asked.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing, Cas." Dean put his hand on Cas's shoulder, feeling a little self-conscious. He couldn't remember how he used to act around Cas before. It definitely wasn't like this. Dean felt judging eyes on him, but he turned around quickly and nobody was looking his way. 

"Dean?" Cas asked softly.

"Good. I'm good." Dean squeezed Cas's shoulder and watched his wrinkled brow relax into vague concern.

(Cas's tender expression in the late morning light of the churchyard scared him. He was scared his face looked the same.)

Dean dropped his hand back to his side. "Why was your week bad?"

Cas tilted his head. "Not bad. Unpleasant, as I said."

"What's the difference?"

Cas shrugged. "Enough. Unpleasant is lectures and no meals. Bad is... worse."

"No meals?"

Cas's eyes were pointed at Dean, but Dean kinda got the feeling that Cas wasn't seeing him as Cas inhaled deeply. "I must be separated from worldly concerns," he finally said, the rhythm of his voice unfamiliar. "I must do what my Father commands me to do."

"Which one?"

Cas pointed up. His finger was shaking and Dean wished he could hold Cas's hand and squeeze it a little too tight. (He would. He would except for everything.)

"Who told you that?"

Cas's eyes focused back on Dean and he didn't say anything, but it was obvious. Dean had known for years.

"Cas, don't listen to him. Okay?"

"I don't... I don't _want_ to."

Dean took a step closer, about to say God-knows-what, _do_ God-knows-what, but Cas stopped him with a single finger barely pressing into Dean's chest.

"Stop," Cas whispered.

Dean moved back immediately. "Sorry."

Cas stared.

Dean looked back.

Cas didn't blink.

"Cas? Buddy?"

"Apologies." Cas took a deep breath. His shoulders slumped in his deep red dress shirt, and somewhere at the edge of Dean's mind, he thought of communion wine and fresh blood.

"Don't, Cas." Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "You don't need to apologize for that kinda stuff."

"But-"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Hush. There's nothing to apologize for." 

Cas’s eyes shone a bit at that, and Dean couldn't tell if he was happy or two steps away from crying. Maybe both. 

"Church is starting soon," Dean said, mostly just to say something. (He really didn't like this kind of silence. It felt too loud.)

Cas hooked his finger in Dean's belt loop, the rest of his hand resting warmly against Dean's hip. "Remember when you called me beautiful?" he asked quietly.

As if Dean could forget.

"Yeah."

Cas moved his hands to Dean's chest, resting there for a brief moment before busying himself retying Dean's tie.

"Cas?"

There was a pause. Then a deep breath. "I hope you know that-"

"Castiel!"

Cas stiffened at the sound of his sister's voice and whipped his head around.

"Mama says that if you're not gonna greet the latecomers, you should go inside."

Dean took a step back. (He noticed Cas's hand lingering on his chest.) (God, he noticed.)

"Thank you, Anna." Cas looked back at Dean. "I apologize. This is seems to be the end of next time."

Dean glanced at Anna and back at Cas with raised eyebrows. " _Cas_. You don't gotta talk about it."

Cas rolled his eyes. "Take peace in the Lord," he said. He looked completely serious and completely sarcastic at the same time, and the expression was so familiar that something in Dean ached. He wanted to tell Cas that the Lord wouldn't give him any peace.

Instead he just kinda smiled to show Cas he didn't mind (even though he minded just a little) and asked, "You still wanna...?"

Cas squeezed Dean's shoulder briefly. "I'll find you," he promised.

Dean waved at Anna. "Take good care of your brother, Miss Anna. You hear me?"

Anna looked up at Cas thoughtfully. "I _guess_ ," she sighed, sounding as put upon as an eight-year-old could sound. 

Cas gave Dean a fond kinda look above Anna's head before reaching down to swing Anna up on his hip. "You guess?" he echoed, sounding deceptively serious.

Anna buried her face in Cas's neck to hide a giggle that Dean heard anyway. "We have to go to church, Castiel," she insisted, still grinning.

Dean checked the quickly thinning crowd outside the church and spotted Sam. "I'll see you later," he said, flashing a quick smile at both Cas and Anna.

"Later," Cas repeated. "I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn’t do what I expected it to do, but who am I to say where my writing goes? Hopefully what we’re all waiting for will happen next chapter! :)


	9. Chapter 9

The church service was a little longer than usual and included a very pointed sermon about obeying your father and mother. Bartholomew never used any specific examples, but he stared at the front row enough to set off a flurry of whispers after church. (According to the soccer moms, Anna quit ballet. According to the old men, Cas was smoking weed.)

The kids ran around the church lawn as their parents gossiped and traded recipes for banana bread. Dean was too old for tag and too young to care where the Braeden family got their above-ground pool, so he became the guy that little kids would run to with a skinned elbow or a disagreement over a soccer ball. Though Dean insisted he didn't care about kids, it made him feel kinda special and important.

Dean noticed Sammy sitting on the grass with another kid about his age. They looked like they were playing one of those hand clap games at first, but Dean noticed a particular hand movement and rolled his eyes.

"Sammy!" he called, walking over to the pair. "Who's this?"

"Her name's Eileen. She's new."

Dean crouched next to Eileen and his brother. "Nice to meet you," he signed.

Eileen's eyes widened.

"I think we all three know what I'm about to say, right?"

Eileen smiled sheepishly and signed the curse word she had been teaching Sammy. 

"I'm glad we're on the same page," Dean said, trying not to laugh. "Because if _I_ know that sign, and _you_ know that sign, there may be somebody else who knows that sign. And if-"

A familiar voice interrupted. "Dean."

"Hey, Cas." Dean glanced over his shoulder at Cas, shooting him a winning grin. "Gimme a minute with these hooligans." 

"Of course." Cas bent down and leaned in close to Dean. His breath was warm against Dean's cheek, but it wasn't gross like it should've been. Instead, Dean could barely resist the temptation to grab Cas by the back of the neck and kiss him. "Meet me in the garden," Cas whispered.

And then Cas stood up and Dean felt hot and cold and not at all like he felt when he was about to kiss Rhonda Hurley. He watched Cas leave, his mouth kinda dry, and turned back to Sammy and Eileen.

"So. Quit cussing at church. Wipe your shoes on the mat. Don't do drugs."

" _Dean_ ," Sammy complained.

"I mean it."

Eileen giggled and made a sign Dean didn't recognize.

"Please tell me you're praying. Or singing _Amazing Grace_." 

Sammy shook his head. "She's saying the word you won't let me say. The one that starts-"

Dean rubbed a hand across his face. "Just. If anyone notices, you're singing _Amazing Grace_. Deal?"

Eileen and Sammy nodded, both looking gleeful.

Dean ruffled Sammy's hair and gave Eileen a fist bump before leaving them to their middle school shenanigans.

The garden was where Dean and Cas met years ago. It was tucked around the side of the church, easy to access but usually empty. The stone bench was still there, though Cas and Dean had outgrown it; somebody's leg always hung off the side, even when they squeezed in tight.

When Dean didn't see Cas right away, years of hide-and-seek led him to the flowering rose bush. There was a small gap between the wall of the church and the bush, just large enough for a teenager if he tucked in his legs and didn't mind dirt and thorns.

Cas never minded.

"There you are!" Dean crowed triumphantly.

Cas was mostly in shadow, his hair looking black in the shade. A few bursts of sunlight pushing through the roses turned a spot on his cheek golden and one eye unnaturally blue.

"Get outta there," Dean said softly, instead of saying any of the things he wanted to say.

Cas held out his hands. "I knew you'd find me."

Dean grinned, taking Cas's hands in his own and pulling him to his feet. "I always do."

Cas touched Dean's cheek gently. His hand was warm, and he smelled like earth and fresh rain. It made Dean feel all tingly, like every part of him was right there under Cas's hand. "I know," he said quietly. "You always find me, Dean." 

Dean wrapped Cas into a tight tight hug. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," Cas rumbled.

"My socks are even matching," Dean said, and it seemed important that morning but he suddenly wasn't sure why he brought it up.

Cas just laughed, something Dean could feel against his chest more than he could hear. It didn't feel mean, but Dean still felt his face turn red, buried in Cas's shoulder.

"I brushed my hair," Cas said when he was done laughing, and now it was Dean's turn to laugh.

He leaned back to look at Cas. "You have a rose leaf in your hair."

Cas sighed heavily. "I probably had a rose leaf in my hair before church began."

Dean grinned. "I like it."

"Are you..." Cas let go of Dean's waist and inched backwards. "Don't ruffle it."

Dean hesitated just long enough for Cas to dart away. "C'mon, buddy. You're fine. I won't touch your hair."

"You just know you can't catch me," Cas taunted.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Is that what we're playing?" 

Cas stuck out his tongue. "Scared?"

"Of you?" Dean lunged for Cas.

The next few minutes were dizzying. 

A hand splayed flat against Cas's chest, feeling his heart thud. A hand on Dean's shoulder, squeezing tightly. An arm wrapped around Cas's waist, a leg pressing against Dean's own, all warm and physical and present.

(Dean got in reach of Cas's hair a few times, but he found he wasn't too interested in claiming victory. This. This was good.)

"Ready?" Cas asked, so close to Dean that his lips brushed Dean's jaw.

"Anything," Dean said. He would've felt a little pathetic any other time, but this was now (and this was Cas).

Dean caught a flash of Cas's blue blue eyes before Cas hooked his foot around Dean's ankles and knocked them both to the ground. Dean's instincts got the best of him, and he quickly rolled them over.

"Hello," Cas said, crinkling his eyes up at Dean.

And yes, Dean was straddling Cas. He could feel the softness of Cas's stomach, the hard muscle and bone of his hips. Cas shifted underneath him, causing Dean to wobble a bit. He caught his balance with his hands on Cas's shoulders, just as Cas reached up to steady him with a hand on Dean's waist.

Dean laughed a little. "Hey."

Cas licked his lips. "Hello."

"You said that already."

Cas just stared up at Dean, a slight crinkle in his eyes. His cheeks were pinkish, and Dean found himself wondering if it was heat or embarrassment (or something else completely).

"You could kiss me now," Cas said suddenly.

"What?"

Cas rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. Dean didn't feel too bad for him, not with Cas's crinkled eyes and roaming hands. "You could kiss me, Dean," he repeated.

Dean moved his hands from Cas's shoulder and leaned over Cas, so so slowly, resting his forearms next to Cas's head. "Okay?"

Cas squeezed Dean's shoulder. "Okay."

At first it was a careful press of their lips together. Cas's lips were chapped but soft, and his nose bumped against Dean's gently. Pressed against Cas everywhere, Dean felt warm and safe and giddy.

"That's kissing," Cas said, but his lips were still mostly against Dean's so his words didn't register as more than low, beautiful sounds.

"Hmm?"

Cas cleared his throat. "That's kissing."

Cas and Dean didn't talk about girls and kissing, but Dean had assumed... "You've kissed other people, right?"

"Not like that," Cas said, licking his lips. It was distracting, and Dean closed his eyes.

"I'm your first kiss?"

Instead of an answer (or maybe _as_ an answer), Cas gave Dean a quick peck.

"God, Cas." Dean's arms shook a little under his weight.

"Don't bring God into things," Cas said, though he didn't sound upset. "Here, lie down on me."

"I don't wanna crush you."

Cas gave Dean a Look. "I promise."

Dean eased himself down to rest on Cas. Cas rubbed his hand up and down Dean's back, pressing kisses to the top of Dean's head every few seconds. 

"You're wrong," Dean said after a while. He lifted his head from Cas's chest and kissed someplace that was really closer to Cas's jaw than his cheek. It made Cas squirm, and Dean grinned before trying again on the other side.

" _Dean_."

"I'm not sorry." Dean ducked down and kissed right above Cas's collar.

Cas pushed Dean's head away. "You were saying something."

Dean leaned back just a little. "You're wrong," he told Cas. 

"Rarely." Cas grinned, all teeth and gums and crinkled eyes. "About what?"

"Earlier. That wasn't _really_ kissing." 

  
"Hmm?"

The truth was that Dean had only had his hand up a girl's shirt once (it was by accident), and he had never had more than sweet, closed mouth kisses. Here, his whole body against Cas's, he was just a little bit of his depth. He felt like maybe it was nice to be out of his depth with Cas.

"You wanna try kissing for real?" Dean asked, feeling a little stupid and a little excited.

"Like in the movies?"

"I thought you weren't allowed to watch movies."

Cas grabbed Dean's hip and squeezed just hard enough to make a point. "And I always follow directions?"

Dean laughed and swatted at Cas’s arm. “Touché, buddy.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“So what?”

Cas ran his hand through Dean's hair and cupped the back of Dean's neck. Dean's spine tingled. "Like this?" Cas asked.

"Um. Yeah. That’s...” Dean cleared his throat. “Good.”

Cas looked a little too proud of himself, but he had the grace not to say anything. Instead, he just pulled Dean’s face a little closer to his own, a gentle, guiding pressure.

Dean went easily. He kissed Cas again, soft as anything, and then Cas did _something_ , and then Dean couldn’t track every point of contact anymore, could barely tell what was up and what was down and what was Cas.

It was more than he expected, but he didn’t want to pull away, only wanted more and more and more. Cheap cologne and grass and sweat and roses surrounded Dean, overheated and clumsy and breathless.

They paused for just a moment, their foreheads pressed together and their breath mixing.

“I should take off my tie.”

“Yeah, same.”

“But not because I want-”

“No, no, I’m with you.”

“I’m just-”

“A little hot under the collar?”

Cas rolled his eyes as he grinned. “Sure, Dean.”

Dean couldn’t help himself from pecking Cas’s forehead. “Yeah, same.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally!! This one was a long time coming, I think :) I decided to split this part up into two chapters, so get ready for another chapter soon!!!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: homophobia, child abuse (emotional and implied physical), discussion of Bible text (Sodom and Gomorrah), references to conversion therapy

They dived back back into each other, their ties forgotten in the grass. It was slower this time. Dean felt (with a combination of horror and glee) like he was the star of a romcom, like maybe a violin should be serenading Cas and him as they kissed each other breathless in the grass.

Dean found that Cas really _really_ liked to have Dean's hands in his hair, no matter how much he liked to fuss about it. (And Dean already knew that he loved Cas's hair.) (They were kinda perfect like that.)

"I love you," Cas told Dean, except he said it by cradling Dean's face like it was special and by smiling into their kisses and by taking a little too long to open his eyes when they stopped for breath.

"I love you, too," Dean told Cas, and he whispered it between them, exhaled the words against Cas's cheek when they pressed their foreheads together.

It was there, with Cas's blue blue eyes barely fluttering open and Dean whispering how much he loved him, that Dean felt a harsh hand on the back of his collar.

"The devil!" Bartholomew Novak shouted.

Dean was thrown into the grass, too dazed to protect himself. He sat up in time to see Cas being dragged to his feet. 

"Father, I-"

"You are not my son," Bartholomew spat.

Cas flinched, his eyes finding Dean's. "I'm sorry," Cas whispered, barely loud enough for Dean to hear. "I'm so, so sorry, Dean."

"Do not speak to him, Castiel. You'll confuse yourself further, and him as well." Bartholomew released Cas with a shove. "To my office."

"Yes, sir." With one last, desperate glance back at Dean, Cas turned the corner and left.

"You'll be seeing him again," Bartholomew said. "Fetch your father and join us in the office."

Dean felt fear grow in his throat, cold and slimy. "He's not here."

"What?"

Dean cleared his throat and tried (but failed) to look Bartholomew in the eye. "My dad isn't at church. He didn't come today."

"So misguided," Bartholomew mused aloud. "No wonder you think _this_ is appropriate."

Dean followed Bartholomew's gaze to the slightly flattened grass and the two discarded neckties. He could barely breathe. He didn't know how to say that his father had very strong views on the matter, church or no. He wondered, idly, if he'd survive the beating.

"You live in the neighborhood, yes?" Bartholomew said suddenly.

Dean nodded slowly.

"I'll send someone to bring in your father. Meanwhile, I'll have you in my office."

Dean felt his legs turning to jelly, felt his heart beating so hard that his whole body was drumming. Bartholomew gripped Dean's shoulder (hard), and smiled so charmingly that people barely acknowledged Dean as they marched back into the church.

Cas was sitting in his father's office, and he half-stood when he saw Dean.

"Sit, Castiel. You as well, Dean Winchester."

Bartholomew made a quick phone call asking for John Winchester to be brought to the church. Dean tried to amuse himself with images of his hungover dad being dragged in by old church ladies. The amusement didn't last long — his dad wouldn't lash out until he was alone with Dean.

Dean couldn't make himself look at Cas, even though he could feel Cas sneaking glances at him. Bartholomew sat on the other side of the grand desk, watching them warily. Maybe the anticipation would kill Dean before his father could get hold of him.

"Shall I read from the Scripture?" Bartholomew finally said. "Perhaps it will help you see the evil of your ways."

Cas didn't say anything.

Dean didn't say anything.

Bartholomew read.

Dean couldn't quite tune out Bartholomew as he read about the judgement of Sodom and Gomorrah. Dean had never actually read the thing, feeling very uncomfortable with the whole subject.

"That's not about being gay," he suddenly interrupted.

Bartholomew looked pissed, but Dean knew he wouldn't slap him. Dean could handle a glare with no problem. Something frightened and stubborn in his chest insisted that he'd be dead and on the way to Hell soon anyway. Might as well make it count.

"For the sin of the people-"

"The hell did they do?" Dean gestured to the open Bible on Bartholomew's desk. "Seems to me they just thought angels were hot."

"They were men, and-"

"Angels have _got_ to be smoking hot," Dean continued. "Hey, Cas, where'd you get your name again?"

"Silence!" Bartholomew boomed. 

Dean leaned back in his chair, feeling satisfied.

"Father, please continue," Cas said meekly. "You haven't gotten to the part where Lot offers up his virgin daughters to the mob of men. Truly, Lot is a pious man."

Cas sounded completely serious, and Bartholomew continued reading with a satisfied nod. It was only when Dean glanced over that he saw Cas's slight smirk.

Bartholomew finished the story without any input from Cas or Dean. He let them sit in silence for a minute before smiling stiffly. "What have we learned?"

"Is Lot really the hero of this?" Dean asked.

"God is the only hero of our lives," Bartholomew answered.

"Except for Jesus." 

"Of course."

"And Moses. Good guy, Moses." Dean tried to pull biblical figures out of the cobwebby parts of his head. "And Esther. I liked her."

"Both heroes of God's people," Bartholomew acquiesced.

"Lot wasn't," Dean decided. "Not to his own kids, at least."

"The men wanted the angels! They were rioting because they were so sexually depraved!” 

"So?” Dean scoffed. “Let them take a cold shower."

Cas coughed to disguise a laugh.

Bartholomew slammed the Bible shut. "You _clearly_ aren't learning anything."

"Consent is key, Pastor Novak. That's what I'm learning. Forming a mob to go after a couple guys is bad."

Bartholomew took a few deep breaths. "Your father should be here soon, Dean. We'll discuss re-education options then."

"Hell no."

"It's for your own good. The devil has made home in your heart."

There was a knock on the door.

"Speak of the devil and he doth appear," Dean said.

Sure enough, Dean's father appeared in the doorway, followed by Naomi Novak. Naomi had a hand over her mouth, while John was flushed and angry.

Dean only heard snippets of Bartholomew's explanation. His heart was back to pounding everywhere in his body.

"No son of mine-" John began, and that's all it took for Dean to have one arm over his head and another over his ribs.

"Look at me like a man!" John demanded. "And don't hide."

Dean wasn't sure that the protection he was giving himself was worth the punishment of disobedience. He dropped his arms back by his sides and looked at John.

"What did you do?" John growled.

"I kissed him," Dean whispered. He felt tense all over.

Naomi was crying.

"Castiel, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Cas stared at his feet. "Nothing, Father," he muttered. "I kissed him," and then Cas was crying, too.

Dean gripped the seat of his chair, trying to resist the urge to hug Cas and tell him it's okay okay it's okay it's okay even though that would be a lie. He stared at the closed Bible, at Naomi's mascara tracks, at the rose leaf in Castiel's hair. He felt the fear climbing up his throat and choked against a gag.

Bartholomew turned to John, a certain satisfaction written clearly on his face. "I think we should plan for re-education," he said. "There are several options. I would suggest-"

"No worries there," John interrupted. He met Dean's eye. "I'll get it out of him."

Understanding dawned on Bartholomew's face and Dean felt helpless and angry and embarrassed as Bartholomew smiled. "Very good, Mr. Winchester."

Bartholomew saw that it was good.

Evening. Morning. The last day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s not actually the last day, y’all, I’m just dramatic. More chapters are coming. What are your thoughts on this change in events?? Please let me know if I should add any other trigger warnings!!

**Author's Note:**

> I am a gay Christian and don’t endorse any of what Bartholomew (aka the preacher) was saying. If you want any guidance for how to deal with people like Bartholomew, I am happy to help. Stay safe out there <3


End file.
